


My Dear Stalker

by Shatterflowerdemon



Series: Reader inserts [15]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AO3 WOULDNT LET ME POST THE WHOLE THING AS ONE CHAPTER ARGHGGGL, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Dusttale (Undertale), Crack Treated Seriously, Dusttale Papyrus (Undertale), Dusttale Sans (Undertale), FLUFF I SWEAR, Friendship, GN Reader, Gen, Invasion of Privacy, No pronouns used for Reader, Not Beta Read, Other, Out of Character, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Reader is not a game protag, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Shy Dust, Sorry Not Sorry, Stalking, Stalking is actually not cool this is just fiction, Unconventional Relationship, could be romantic if you squint, no beta we die like warriors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterflowerdemon/pseuds/Shatterflowerdemon
Summary: God, what a fucking joke. YOU out of all the people in this forsaken city get the stalker. You barely leave the house compared to some other folks. Stalking you sounded like the most boring pastime, and the desire to ask burned in your brain. What was the thought process of your stalker? Were you just some sort of sideshow or what? There was some plausible deniability behind the clothing going missing, but you still had questions. It's not like you hadn't fucked up the placement of stuff before. Oh, but now? Now you knew for sure you weren't imagining shit.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Reader inserts [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042395
Comments: 31
Kudos: 118





	1. Somebody's Watching Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Thanks to everyone who did the poll I posted about fics you wanted to read! I'm taking the results into consideration and will be uploading one of the most voted-for options soon! I'll stop the responses in about 24-48 hours.
> 
> This is just something that was begging me to write it
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://shatterflowerdemon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Fic Survery!](https://forms.gle/WKhhwy4qjQgVvC54A)

"You're not the one stalking me, are you?" 

"I- UH," the floating skull stammers, disembodied hands wringing together. They seem flabbergasted. You sigh and rub at your aching calf muscles. 

Work was hell, you had some increasingly worrying lack of fucks, and now you were faced with a stranger in your home who had phased through your wall during a shower. When you chucked a shampoo bottle at them, it had bounced off the wall uselessly. The following words from your mouth would have made Marilyn Manson blush. Yeah, you don't like surprises much. 

Now, you sit in hastily put on clothes reclining on your couch and wondering if you can strangle a ghost. Unlikely, but a funny thought that doesn't do much to lighten your mood. What a fucking day. Your stalker couldn't have waited to pull this shit till the weekend?

"I AM.......NOT?"

You sigh again (heavier this time.) "Then you must know who is, right? Real gutsy move, by the way. Don't do that shit again."

"I APOLOGIZE. YOU WERE TAKING A WHILE, AND HE WANTED ME TO MAKE SURE YOU HADN'T INURED YOURSELF. YOU HUMANS HAVE SUCH FRAGILE PHYSICAL FORMS."

You grimace. "You weren't counting on me seeing you. Coulda just knocked or some shit. Tell Dust to at least wait to invade my space when I'm not home. Fucking hell." Yeah, this ghost didn't fit the vibe of your stalker at all. You run your free hand down your face. 

"OH NO, HE WASN'T INSIDE! YOU ARE A RATHER OBSERVANT HUMAN WHEN YOU WISH TO BE." The ghost squints at you like you're a puzzle. Fuck is that supposed to mean?

You keep your eyes trained on the ghost monster in front of you as you work the knots out of your calf. His blank white pupils trace the movement. It doesn't deter you. What a weird situation, huh? If this happened two months ago you'd... you'd be only some more panicky. True panic just isn't in your vocabulary right now. If anything, you're resigned. 

"Good to know. Now, please, if this discussion is over, I'd like to pass out. I'm sure the library has books on how to knock." The phantom acquiesces, hands wringing a little less. He phases through the wall of your house. Satisfied with the sham of privacy, you get comfortable on your couch and pass out. Work was hell, and if your stalker wanted you dead, he'd have killed you long ago. 

It wasn't clear when your stalker's interest started. You had a lowball number of how long they'd been in your grill, though. It was the little things. They snowballed, and the little innocuous things you'd chalked up to your mindlessness stacked like pancakes. You started making note of specific things you'd done before leaving for the day. A mug you hadn't washed, now lying clean and dry in that same spot. A throw pillow straighter than before. It drove you insane trying to figure out how they could have gotten in. Denial and paranoia set in a bit.

Were you just making a mountain out of a molehill?

Then, other things started happening that were harder to ignore. Your favorite pair of underwear? Gone. Those nice thigh highs you wore like, once? Also gone. More dishes were washed. A whole fucking fresh burger meal on your dinner table after you pulled a double shift. It was still warm, and you shook the entire house, trying to make sense of it. They even fed your cat!

The final nail in the coffin was the figure you saw outside your window. They had gotten cocky, watching you sip an alcoholic beverage very late at night. The drowsiness that had settled over you must have made them feel more secure in their sneakiness, until you saw something shift in the corner of your eye. That creepy hair-raising feeling was something you had gotten accustomed to for the past two weeks. You don't turn quickly, wanting to make sure you get a good look at the stalker. 

God, what a fucking joke. YOU (out of all the people in this forsaken city) get the stalker. You barely leave the house compared to some other folks. Stalking you sounded like the most boring pastime, and the desire to ask burned in your brain. What was the thought process of your stalker? Were you just some sort of sideshow or what? There was some plausible deniability behind the clothing going missing, but you still had questions. It's not like you hadn't fucked up the placement of stuff before. Oh, but now? Now you knew for sure you weren't imagining shit. 

Their figure cuts out part of the tree that rests near your window. A distant and flickering streetlamp illuminates their silhouette. You see their shoulders shoot up and tense. A hood over their head, no discernable features other than short with boxy shoulders. 

You, in a bout of insanity and incredibly, give them a little finger wave. They stumble back from the window, shocked.

Fight fire with fire, right? Make the fucker so awkward they fuck off. Even if it was the most interesting thing in your life right now, that wasn't media, your shitty job, or your cat. A psychological evaluation would be nice if the practicing ones weren't so shit around here. No, you'd rather keep them and the cops out of your shit for as long as possible. None of them were competent, anyways. 

Deciding to fuck the whole damn ethical trainwreck, you lift your glass a little higher in greeting and knock the thing back hard enough you think you can see a past life. They're gone when you rest the empty glass on your coffee table. What a fucking night. Funnily enough, you sleep relatively well. You reason that if they wanted to do something, you could handle it with the metal bat by your bed and the switchblade under your pillow. Somehow, you don't think that fits their MO.....maybe you were reading too many detective stories.


	2. Stalk Around The Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime the next morning, after Pedialyte and enough meds to knock someone's grandma on their ass, you make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have this baby fully cooked, so I'm ready to serve it quickly!

Sometime the next morning, after Pedialyte and enough meds to knock someone's grandma on their ass, you make a plan. Cops suck ass, and you like keeping your weed. What's the best next thing you can do? Security measures wouldn't work. They'd probably watch the damn thing be set up. Not like it'd do much good anyway. That's assuming you'd even be able to afford the ridiculous rate the sole security company in the city had. Yeah, fucking right. Well, the worst thing that could happen is you get kidnapped or shanked. The best thing is they fuck off and leave you alone to wither in nihilism and existential dread. 

You write them a letter. Maybe an odd choice, but you think it'll be Effective. 

'Stalker,  
I don't know why you're stalking me of all people, but thanks for not shanking me. I'd rather not get the cops involved. Can we work something out? if you were the one to take my underwear: I don't want it back.'

Simple, straightforward, and too cheeky for your own good. Perfect. You decide to fuck it and tape it to your window. You don't hear or see anything weird for the next day. After a hellish day from work, you find something strange. The letter has been taken down and scribbled on the back. A pretty rock is on your windowsill. You had a feeling about who left it. The text is scratched out and wiggly in some places. It's like the writer was nervous. You read it. 

'I'll never hurt you. Cops suck. Didn't take the underwear. Sorry for scaring you. Work something out?'

How...mundane. You expected some creepy poetry or weird phrases. This, by comparison seems bland. But you suppose bland is good in this situation. Wow, you must be fucked up to care so little about the implied dangers. You weigh the rock in your hands. Sturdy, but pretty. It's a cracked geode, and you place it on your bookshelf. If things got dicey you could always use it as a weapon. You write another note, thinking hard about the right things to ask.

'I don't trust you, but it's better for my sanity if I try to believe that. Why are you stalking me? Is my house that easy to break into? I won't squeal if you promise your honesty.'

Satisfied, you fold it into a misshapen square and leave it on the window sill. No need to air the dirty laundry for the local skateboarders to read now that you knew they could get into your house for sure. 

Your dishes end up washed again when you go on a grocery run. The note lies on your table, with a handful of wildflowers. They're pretty, and you can tell the stalker carefully handpicked them. At this point the breaking-in thing was moot. Was it really breaking in if you expected and sorta welcomed it? Whatever; your morals were already screwy. You sequester the flowers away in a vase and read. 

'Don't have the guts to lie to you. Most places are easy enough to get into. it's a complicated reason. Can't tell you everything until I know you won't run for the hills. Sorry. just know that someone out there cares about you, kay? I know your job is giving you hell. How do you like your burgs?'

Fewer words are scratched out than the last note, none in fact. There are a few marks from pencil erasures. The top layer is neat ink. He'd written the draft in pencil and gone over it with ink. What a dorkish thing to do. You promptly ignored the feeling the note elicited. 

'If I was going to flip my shit id have done it the night you were at my window. I honestly don't know how to respond to your care for me, but thanks for the dishwashing. I've just gotta ask, though. If you're not going to go batshit on me, then why not just befriend me instead of stalking me? Without cheese.'

And that gets you thinking. Did they know you from somewhere? Occam's razor. It was pretty likely, anyways. Just like most murders are committed by someone familiar to the victim. Where would you know the stalker from? The grocery store? Your job from hell? that coffee shop you visit sometimes? You hardly talk to anyone you already don't know super well.


	3. Can I get a Witness?

Once again, after work, you find something left for you. They knew your schedule in and out. Perhaps you should try something as an experiment. This time, it's a burger without cheese and a note. It's on cardstock this time. A level up. 

'I'm not good at social interaction. Until recently I didn't go out much. You're weird and yet so 'normal,' but that's why I like you. You caught me off guard with your reaction that night at the window. I mean, a stranger was watching you, but you kept so calm.'

There's a part scratched out. You hold it up to the light in order to read it better. 

'Your face is really cute when you think hard about something.'

Oh. Was it odd to be flattered? Fuck it, you, them, and this situation was odd enough already. That's why people and you mainly kept a distance. You keep reading. 

'You're welcome. Sorry if that freaked you out. I figured if I couldn't talk to you, at least I could try to help you out when you arent looking. like one of those tiny helpers in human movies. enjoy the burg. favorite condiment?' 

Oh, they're definitely a monster. 'Human movies'? Plus, this burger was from Grillby's. You googled it after reading the logo. Nestled right into what was deemed 'monster territory.' it would explain how they seamlessly get to and fro. Monsters sometimes (often) had abilities humans don't. Mages are all dead. Reply time, and now you use printer paper. What an upgrade!

'You're talking to me right now. To be honest, as long as you don't do anything weird, I don't care if you do stuff around my place. I don't understand what you like about it but to each their own. I don't like owing people, though, is my company enough? For the love of stars, don't be in my house when I am unless you knock on the front door. I will lose my shit a little if you do. To be honest, I was drunk, and I probably have some self-preservation issues. Everything but mayo unless it's an ingredient. You got a name?'

Next time it's a carton of still fresh fries with ketchup. You recognize the bag and carton from a local gas station. The stalker sure did know your appetite, at least. Greasy food is the shit. 

'do you usually let strangers have free roam in your house, or am I special? It's nice being able to help someone without being judged for one thing or another. I like caretaking. Your company means the world to me. Sorry if that's weird. Not a lot of people talk to me. I won't be inside when you get home unless it's an emergency. promise. You can call me Dust.' 

Dust sounds morbid. Like monster dust. A stalker-monster named Dust that left you gas station fries and did your dishes.


	4. Open The Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chap! Thanks a bunch if you made it this far

The notes continue in that fashion for weeks. You started leaving leftovers in a special Tubberwear labeled 'Dust' inside your fridge. Now that the house-entering was consensual, you felt some sort of kinship with the monster. All of them that you'd met had good intentions, even if they were rough around the edges or seemed to operate on a different system than you did. The shower incident happens and passes with little fanfare from then on. It's a hush-hush memory. 

Dust confessed that nowadays, he mainly just listens to you move about your house and doesn't watch you change. You believe him. He tells you about how he raised his brother, and you talk about your childhood. It gets intimate in a way you can't pin at first. Like, weird pen pals. A stalk agreement. 

You get a really short note one day paired with a fully washed, dried, and emptied Tubberwear. He ate the pasta you'd left him. 

'What if I knocked on your door one day? Would that be weird? I know you don't hate me, but I don't want to do anything without your permission again.' 

You hear a thump on your roof. Dust must be up there for his evening live concert of you watching TV until you pass out. You scribble a hasty note. 

'I don't mind. Would it be weird if I told you I think we're friends?' 

The note is settled on your window sill. You open the window, keeping your head down as you talk to what is probably Dust. 

"Notes on the sill, I'll be in the bathroom getting out of these damn work clothes. I hope the pasta was alright," you say before heading to change. You're just tugging on a shirt when you hear the knock. "Holy shit," you say to no one as you scramble for the door. Short, boxy shoulders, a monster that isn't affected by the temperature and prefers comfy clothes. That's the best you have to run on. Not one to waste any more time meeting your stalker, you throw the door open. 

"Hey," the skeleton monster, no, Dust says, "the ghetti was good."

A break of awkward silence. You drink him in like fine wine. His voice suits his letters well, and everything about him screams 'Dust.' 

"can....can I come in?" he asks, shoes scuffing the ground idly. You smile, and it doesn't feel the least bit forced. What you had with Dust was between the two of you. Stalking or not. 

"Never needed permission before, bone boy. Are we watching Jackass or Scream?"

His grin lightens your mood considerably, and you smile to yourself even when he walks into your house, familiar with the layout way by now. He makes himself comfortable on your couch. 

Yeah, this could work.

**Author's Note:**

> Every chapter title is a reference
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://shatterflowerdemon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Fic Survery!](https://forms.gle/WKhhwy4qjQgVvC54A)


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